Maybe One Day
by wildflowerwriter
Summary: "But I think that one day, I could." Natasha doesn't break down easily, but luckily, her hawk is always there for her when she does.
1. Maybe One Day

**So first of all, I just want to let you all know that when I started writing this, I didn't really know where this story would end up going. It also hasn't been revised in any way, so if there are any glaring grammatical mistakes, then I'm very sorry.**

 **This story works pretty well as a one-shot, but depending on the interest level (or if I feel like it) there's a possibility of a second part.**

 **I also acknowledge that my characters aren't written exactly as they appear in the movies, which is due to the fact that in no way do I own any of the characters in this story. I am not Marvel.**

* * *

The guilt she felt was enough to crush her alive. The red-headed Russian assassin sank to the floor, sitting alone in the middle of the empty training room. She was a traitor, always had been, always would be. Anyone else would have tears in their eyes at this realization, but not the Black Widow. Instead, she stared blankly at the wall. She couldn't sleep. She could never sleep. It had evaded her for weeks now, and she was unable to sleep for more than a few hours a night. None of the other Avengers seemed to have noticed, which made Natasha realize how much she missed her partner, who certainly would have called her out by now. She missed Clint, who was probably off renovating the farmhouse with Laura and the kids. She hated herself too, for the turmoil her emotions were in. She wasn't supposed to feel these things. She was supposed to be immune to any weakness, the perfect weapon. Yet somehow, the archer had managed to find a chink in her armor, to get to her in a way no one else ever would.

And this, of course, brought her mind to Bruce. She didn't understand why she had been chosen to serve as his lullaby. It wasn't that she didn't care for him, she saw all of the other Avengers as her team, but that was all they'd ever been. Frankly, she had wanted nothing to do with the team, and if it weren't for Clint, she wouldn't have joined at all. But he had persuaded her, saying, "It's for the good of the whole world Tasha," and she couldn't turn him down. She hated that she was leading Bruce on, that she did exactly what she was taught during her Widow training and used romance and seduction as just another weapon. It wasn't a new strategy, but she'd never used it on a friend before. Until now, that is. And now he was missing and she was sure it was because he knew what she had done, how she had manipulated him and Clint was off with his wife and _dammit_ emotions were a weakness, and for a fleeting instant she almost wished she was as heartless as she had been when Clint first found her because then she wouldn't be drowning in the guilt of lying to her friend, and she certainly wouldn't be falling in love with the man who had rescued her.

It wasn't that Natasha was an expert on love, or relationships, but she knew what she felt for Clint was different than the way she saw the rest of the team. And while love may be for children, there was no denying the way her stomach flipped in attraction when Clint smiled at her. Obviously, the feeling wasn't mutual, seeing as he was married. Had he been married to Laura since before he rescued her, and he never told her? Natasha hadn't known until just a bit before the rest of the team found out, maybe a month earlier. The children had taken a liking to her for some reason, but it stung, and the Russian understood jealousy when she saw Laura with her arm around Clint's waist. It was as though she was being taunted, that she could finally feel again only to experience unrequited love.

A choked scream tore from the assassin's throat as she hurled herself at the nearest target, a punching bag that didn't stand a chance. Her bare fists hammered the firm surface, over and over, her rage and frustration pouring out in a rapid series of punches and kicks until the bag was swinging steadily and sweat was beginning to bead along her forehead. Her knuckles had long since gone numb, and her scarlet curls swung in her face, blocking her vision as she rhythmically attacked, emptying all of her emotions on the target at her mercy. She lost track of time, continuing until the clock was flashing 4:12 in the morning and her body ached and it felt as though her limbs were made of lead. She dropped to the floor, breathing deeply as she lay on the training mat trying to reign herself in.

For the first time since she was a child, Natasha Romanoff allowed tears to well in her eyes and drip down her cheeks as she stared at the ceiling.

"Flawed," she whispered. "I'm flawed."

* * *

Clint had returned to headquarters by 4:30 in the morning, and was more than ready to finish sleeping after lightly napping during the plane ride. He crept quietly down the hall, prepared to sneak into his room when his sharp eyes made out a figure inside one of the training rooms. Instead of moving about, however, they appeared to just be lying on the mat. And while that was concerning enough to him, the worst part was when he saw the glint of red on the figure's hair.

 _Nat._

She was shaking when he reached her, her eyes closed and her muscles twitching and when he reached out to touch her, she whimpered and the sound nearly broke his heart. Lying in front of him was the deadliest assassin in the world, reduced to weak cries as the horrors of her past haunted her dreams. He gathered the shaking redhead in his arms, whispering gently.

"Hey Tasha. It's okay, I'm here. It's Clint, it's me, I'm here. I'm your partner Nat, and as long as we're together, they're never going to get you again, okay? I won't let them touch a hair on your head. You're safe with me, now come on Tasha, wake up, okay?" She trembled as his calloused fingers skimmed his face, brushing stray curls aside. He enclosed one of her hands with his, only to feel that it was sticky with blood. There were small smears of the stuff on a nearby punching bag, and a few dried spots on the mat.

He didn't understand why she had decided to do this. Normally, Natasha didn't lash out like this. She typically would go to the firing range if she was upset or couldn't sleep. He would occasionally spar to release tension if either of them had a bad day. A feeling of guilt settled over him, and he realized that maybe, if he'd been here, he could've prevented this.

"Nat, come on, time to wake up," he said, louder than earlier, and her eyes snapped open. Before he realized what was happening, she had jabbed him in the stomach with the heel of her hand and used the force to roll off of him, crouching in a defensive stance. Her green eyes were wild, feral even, and Clint held up his hands in surrender. "Tasha, it's me," he told her soothingly, and the fight drained out of her.

"Clint…" the red-head trailed off. It was then that Clint noticed the tearstains on her cheeks, the slight redness to her eyes that revealed her tears. And her eyes…normally they held some sort of spark. They were void of any light now, surrounded by dark bags that reflected how much she'd slept.

"Come on Tash," he said, standing up and watching as she followed suit. He draped an arm over her shoulders and he felt her tense suddenly before relaxing again, although she still seemed wary. They walked back to his room (because hers was too far away, and Natasha looked dead on her feet from fatigue) and sat her down on the bed before walking to his closet to find something that could serve as her pajamas. He ended up tossing her an old t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts that were too small for him, but that would still likely be too big for his thin partner. She changed out of her dirty clothes shamelessly and looked prepared to fall back asleep, but Clint stopped her.

"Let me clean your hands up first," he insisted, and she didn't have the energy to argue. She had poured all of her out in the training room, and now she felt as though she were just a shell of herself. Taking the first aid kit, cleaned the bloody wounds on her knuckles, revealing the dark bruises on her pale skin. "Shit Nat," he whispered. "Why did you do this to yourself?"

Clint bandaged her hands, then moved so he was sitting beside her on the bed. She leaned into him, and the pair sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying their closeness. Clint finally broke the serenity of it all, asking, "What happened Nat? What made you that upset? Was Stark an idiot again? You know I'll kick his ass for you." Natasha just shook her head, causing her curls to bounce around her face.

"It's Bruce, isn't it?" he asked, and maybe it was the fact that she was exhausted and her body ached, or the overwhelming guilt she felt, or the battle of emotions inside of her, but Natasha gave up fighting back the tears. She felt as though years of anguish were spilling from her eyes, and she was helpless to stop it. Clint felt as though his world had been flipped. He knew the team was all close, and that it was Natasha's responsibility to calm Bruce when he was angry, but he never would've imagined this.

"The Black Widow is in love," he whispered, feeling a twinge of bitterness. At this, Natasha seemed to come alive, and Clint realized that her tears made her seem even more terrifying as she whirled around, her eyes burning.

"I'm flawed Clint. There, I said it. I'm flawed, because I have these feelings that I've been trained to block out, these feelings that are completely wrong and unrequited and I'm sorry, okay? I'm weak and broken and everything that I was never supposed to be and I'm sorry."

"Tasha, we'll find him –"

"You don't understand Barton. You don't understand at all." And with that, the red-haired assassin stood up, marched out, and slammed the door.

Clint was on her heels as she stormed through the halls, trying to lose him. No one else was moving about yet, just the two of them, engaged in an argument he didn't understand.

"Nat, please just tell me what's going on, I can help," he pleaded.

"You don't understand Clint," she insisted as she reached the stairs and began to climb.

"Natasha." The hardness in his voice startled both of them, and he was able to catch her wrist as she attempted to escape. "Just tell me. Please," he begged.

The pair stood face-to-face on one of the many landings on the stairwell, both hardly daring to breathe.

Natasha finally broke the silence. "You'll hate me for what I have to say."

Clint braced himself for the worst. "Tasha, I'm never going to hate you."

The words were barely out of his mouth when her lips crashed against his and her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him close to her, and his arms went around her waist and he kissed her, like he'd wanted to on so many occasions. He pressed her back against the wall of the stairwell and kissed her fiercely, his fingers tangling in her fiery curls, her hands tracing his muscular arms when she suddenly broke away from him.

"I told you that you'd hate me for it," she said, and then she bolted up the stairs.

"Tasha, why would I hate you?" he asked, breaking into a run because he has just kissed the girl who he thinks he's in love with and he can't lose her now.

"You have a wife, Clint Barton! And children!" Natasha retorted angrily. She burst out onto the rooftop of the building, Clint's nest, and she knew that she couldn't see him without losing her mind. Her heart was racing, from both her sprint upstairs and the passionate moment prior with Clint. She knew she had no way to get away from him up here, apart from hurling herself over the railing and plummeting for quite a few stories. Natasha decided she wasn't that desperate…yet. So instead, she turned and faced the stairs, bracing herself for whatever Clint might say that would certainly break her heart. "That was all a mistake," he could say, or, "Whatever you feel for me, I certainly don't feel it for you," or worse, "Just go, Natasha." She shook her head slightly to clear her mind. "Hope for the best, expect the worst," she muttered under her breath, laughing bitterly. Who would've thought that she, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, a highly trained assassin, would be breaking down over a relationship that could never happen? Clint appeared at the top of the stairway, and her train of thought derailed.

"Tasha, I need you to listen to me," he began, and she sighed. This didn't seem to be off to a good start. "Laura isn't my wife, or my fiancé, or my girlfriend, or even _close_ to romantically involved with me."

"Then why – ?"

"I'm her cover. It happened during a solo mission…I think you were in Tokyo at the time? I got sent to Ireland to take out a guy responsible for an underground human trafficking ring. Laura was his wife, and she had two kids and a third on the way, and the way he treated them…" Clint trailed off. "You never would've known all the awful things he was doing Tasha. He adored them, and I killed him. I couldn't leave her there, in that kind of jeopardy. There were other dangerous men involved, and I couldn't let myself kill her husband and leave her and her children at their mercy. So I offered to help her. A new life, a quiet farm in the middle of nowhere, a new identity, a safe place to raise her children. I had to pose as her husband so no one would question the amount of time I was putting into their lives, making sure they were okay. Her heart broke when he died Nat, and I've been trying to make it up to her. And I couldn't risk the other Avengers finding out, you know how they talk. So I let her know what the backstory was, and she went with it." He sighed. "I killed her husband, but I couldn't let myself be responsible for the deaths of her and her children Tash, I couldn't leave them."

He sounded so heartbroken, Natasha didn't know what to do with herself. He ran his hands over his face and roughly through his hair, and she stepped towards him and he didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms. The sun is rising over the city and they stood, clinging to each other as if letting go would be the end of them both.

"Clint?" she whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I don't know much about love, or emotions, or anything like that. And I don't think I can really say that I love you because honestly, I don't know. I don't know anything about love. But I think that one day, I could. Love you, I mean. Maybe not today, but one day. And I don't know what's going to happen from here but I just need you to know that, no matter what, okay?"

She thinks she could've found more words to try to express herself, but Clint cuts her off with a firm kiss and she melts into him. They break apart and he whispers, "I think I could love you too, Nat."

* * *

 **So…second part, anyone?**


	2. One Day

**This is a lot of fluff, and it's probably sweet enough to rot your teeth. You've been warned.**

 **I still don't own MARVEL so basically none of these characters are actually mine, although I wish they were.**

* * *

Bruce was still missing, and Natasha still felt the oppressive guilt on her shoulders. It was as though someone had taken the weight of the world and thrown it on top of her, and some days she could hardly breathe. She never broke down in front of the others though. She can tell that Steve suspects something is wrong, but he doesn't push her. Tony is as obnoxious as ever, and she mostly just stays out of his way. Thor mostly keeps his distance, and is so busy travelling between Asgard and their world that she rarely has to see him and face any of his questions.

Clint can tell that something is off with his partner, and she knows that. He doesn't ever bring it up, but sometimes he'll rest a calming hand on her shoulder, or give her arm a reassuring squeeze, and eventually it's the little actions like these that help her get through the day.

For some reason, this morning was bad for her though. After months of pushing aside what she had done, the guilt had finally overwhelmed her, and she remained curled in her SHIELD-issued bed. It was small and not particularly comfortable, but it was isolated and no one would bother her here.

Well, almost no one.

* * *

Clint knew something was wrong when he arrived at the gym on a Thursday morning and Natasha wasn't already there, whether shooting at a target or sparring or going through one of several obstacle courses to increase her near-flawless agility. The clock read 5:13 in the morning and she was late, because Natasha was a creature of habit and was always training by 5 every morning. She claimed it was dedication, but Clint knew the truth. He knew that she was haunted by nightmares that were just as bad as his, if not worse. Awake, she could always outrun the years of killing, but at night, they always caught up to her.

He only managed to shoot a few rounds of arrows before worry for Natasha consumed him. He'd known his partner for years, and even when she was just a recruit, she had never been late. Hell, she was normally the first person to show up to train, and she would _never_ be late unless something was wrong. She had snuck out of the infirmary before to train, only to be marched back by one of their supervisors. He returned his bow to the weapons rack and walked out, worry churning in his gut like a brewing storm.

When he arrived at her room, he hesitated at the door. Nat would kill him is he just walked into her room unannounced, but if something was wrong, he had to find out. He tested the handle, and finding the room unlocked, he took a deep breath before pushing the door open a crack. She would've heard him try the handle by now, she had to know he was there. "Tasha?" he called softly before stepping into the room. He didn't fully know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't what he found. Natasha was always so full of life, and it shocked him to see her lying so listlessly on her bed, her back to the door. He crossed the room and gingerly sat down next to her. "Hey Tasha, you were late for training and I just – Tasha?" She was completely unresponsive, staring blankly at the wall across from her. "Natasha," he said, and she blinked in response. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Gently, he lifted her up so that her head rested on his lap, and her emerald eyes were forced to meet his steel blue ones. "Natasha," he said again, his voice softer. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Am I am awful person?" she whispered, and he saw her eyes were red and glassy with tears that she refused to let fall.

"Tasha, no, not at all," he reassured her. "You're so far from awful, and I would do anything to prove that to you."

"Bruce is missing and it's my fault Clint, I manipulated him, and if this all backfires, then it's on me. I lied to him, I led him on, I did everything that they trained me to. I used the illusion of love as a weapon and I lied to him, I lied to someone who should have been able to trust me, I lied to one of our teammates." She paused briefly, chewing on her lip before continuing. "How can the Avengers ever be a team, how will they ever be able to trust me?"

"Nat, none of this is your fault. Do you understand that? If you were truly awful, you wouldn't be a member of the team, you wouldn't be my best friend, and I certainly wouldn't –" he trailed off.

"You wouldn't what?" she asked.

"It isn't important," he said, although the unsaid words hung heavily in the air between them.

 _I certainly wouldn't have fallen in love with you._ As much as Clint wanted to reassure her with those words, he knew he couldn't. He was afraid of scaring her, of being too sudden or too forward and causing her to shy away from him.

The Black Widow may be fearless, but Natasha Romanoff certainly wasn't. She was afraid of hurting those around her, afraid of close relationships, afraid of falling in love. Clint knew that better than anyone that she wasn't as apathetic as she pretended to be, that she was as human as anyone else.

"Clint?" she whispered. She had finally forced herself into a sitting position, and they were now shoulder-to-shoulder on her bed. A few tears had dripped from her eyes, and she hadn't bothered to rub them away. Gently, he took her face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe her tears away.

"It's okay Nat, I promise. I wouldn't lie to you," he assured her, and then he leaned in and kissed her. Displays of affection like this weren't common, their relationship consisted mainly of reassuring gazes, calming words, and lingering touches, but in the privacy of Natasha's room and given the circumstance, Clint decided it was necessary.

The two broke apart, and Natasha wrapped her arms around Clint's neck. "Please don't leave," she whispered. "Please. Just give me five minutes to pull myself together, five minutes to be sad and then I'll be okay."

Clint pulled her closer to him, until her head rested on his shoulder and she was practically in his lap. "Tasha, you've forced yourself to push all of your emotions to the side since you were a child. Take as long as you need, okay?"

She nodded, causing her curls to swing around her chin. "I only need three minutes."

Clint sighed. "Tasha," he started, prepared to tell her that no, that was not at all what he meant, when she kissed him, and it was hard and passionate and very effective at shutting the archer up.

* * *

Natasha hated weakness. Maybe that was why she was so unwilling to consider the possibility of love. Or at least, maybe she had been at one point. But since Clint had worked his way into her life years ago, she had been forced to reconsider. Certainly during these most recent months, after her confession in the stairwell and the night on the roof, she had been reevaluating her views, her relationships, her life. She wasn't any less terrified of what the word "love" meant, but she was willing to admit that it probably existed. And if there was love anywhere in the world, it was between her and Clint.

So she kissed him and she poured herself into it, her emotions and her turmoil and everything that made her Natasha Romanoff. Because in that moment, she was his and he was hers and they were together and everything was okay.

When they separated, her green eyes look on his blue ones and she knows that it's now or never, that this moment will change their lives and she is terrified but she has to take that leap.

"Clint?"

"Natasha?"

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what she is about to say, what she is sure that he already knows.

"I love you," she whispers.

Clint knew the words were coming. He could sense them from her hesitancy. And Natasha Romanoff was rarely hesitant.

He doesn't speak at first, instead, he brushes a loose strand of hair from her face, and lets his hand linger on her cheek, holding her gaze, and the silence is filled with unsaid thoughts before he replies.

"I love you too."

* * *

 **Well that was a LOT of fluff. I'm working on planning another story right now, although I can't make any guarantees as to when that will be posted because I'm in the middle of finals at the moment. I hope you all liked this story, and hopefully you'll be reading more from me soon!**


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